Tag Archives: Historical Romance

BOOK BLAST ~ Rule for a Rogue by Christy Carlyle ~ #giveaway

A sparkling new series
about a rogue who must learn how to follow the 
rules and a woman who wants to
break all of them.


Romancing the Rules #1
Christy Carlyle
Releasing Nov 1st, 2016
Avon Impulse


From the USA Today bestselling
author of ONE DANGEROUS DESIRE comes a sparkling new series about a rogue who
must learn how to follow the rules and a woman who wants to break all of them,
perfect for fans of Maya Rodale and Lorraine Heath.
Kit Ruthven’s Rules (for
#1 Love freely but guard your heart,
no matter how tempting the invader.
#2 Embrace temptation, indulge your
sensual impulses, and never apologize.
#3 Scorn rules and do as you please.
You are a rogue, after all.
the rules never brought anything but misery for Christopher “Kit” Ruthven.
After rebelling against his controlling father and leaving the family’s Ruthven
Rules etiquette book empire behind, Kit has been breaking every one imaginable
for the past six years. He’s enjoyed London’s sensual pleasures and secured his
reputation as a Rogue, but he’s failed to achieve success. When he inherits his
father’s publishing business, Kit is forced back into the life he never wanted.
Worse, he must face Ophelia Marsden, the woman he jilted but never forgot.
losing her father and refusing a loveless marriage proposal, Ophelia has
learned to rely on herself. To maintain the family home and support her younger
brother, she tutors young girls in deportment and decorum. But her pupils would
be scandalized if they knew their imminently proper teacher was also the author
of a guidebook encouraging ladies to embrace their independence and overthrow
outdated notions of etiquette like the Ruthven Rules.
As Kit
rediscovers the life, and the woman, he left behind, Ophelia must choose
between the practicalities she never truly believed in, or the love she’s never
been able to extinguish.


Before Ophelia could gather her sister and head back to the kitchen, a knock sounded at the front door. Juliet clutched her notebook to her chest and bolted back into the library.

Slipping Guidelines behind her back with one hand, Ophelia grasped the doorknob with the other. She schooled her features into a pleasant expression in case it was Mrs. Raybourn or, heaven forbid, Mr. Raybourn, in need of more reassurance their girls weren’t on the high road to ruin because of the book no one knew she’d written.

When she pulled the door open, all the breath whooshed from her body.

Their visitor wasn’t any member of the Raybourn family.

“Kit Ruthven.”

“You remember me, then?” He grinned as he loomed on the threshold, his shoulders nearly as wide as the frame. Eyes bright and intense, he took her in from head to toe, and then let his gaze settle on her mouth. When he finally looked into her eyes, the cocksure tilt of his grin had softened. She read a wariness in his gaze that matched her own.

She’d spent years trying to forget those dark, deep-set eyes.

“I remember you.” Her book slipped, skidding across her backside and clattering to the floor as her throat tightened on sentiments she’d been waiting years to express. None of them would come. Not a single word. Instead, in outright rebellion, her whole body did its best to melt into a boneless puddle. Gritting her teeth, Phee fought the urge to swoon or, worse, rush into his long, muscled arms.

“I’m relieved to hear it.” He had the audacity to kick his grin into a smile, a rakish slash that cut deep divots into his clean-shaven cheeks. Then he took a step through her door. “I worried that—”

“No.” She lifted a hand to stop him. Looking at the man was difficult enough. Hearing his voice—deeper now but achingly familiar—was too much. If he came closer, she might give in to some rogue impulse. And that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

Ophelia swallowed hard. She needed a moment to gather her wits. To rebuild her walls.

“You dropped something.” He moved toward her, so close his sleeve brushed hers.

She lowered her hand to avoid touching him and jerked back when he bent to retrieve her book, watching as he turned the volume to read its title.

Miss Gilroy’s Guidelines for Young Ladies. How intriguing. Looks as though Ruthven Publishing has some competition.”

Seeing him again was worse than she’d imagined. And she had imagined this moment aplenty. Far too many times. Not just on her infrequent jaunts to London but most days since they’d parted. The man had lingered in her thoughts, despite every effort to expel him.

Taking a shaky breath, she braced herself and faced him.

He’d always been tall. When they were children, she’d looked up to him. Literally. But he’d never used his size to bully others. More often he’d born teasing about his physique. Ungainly, his father had called him, and Kit repeated the word when referring to himself.

Now he offered no apologetic hunch in his stance. He didn’t cross his arms to narrow his body. More than embracing his size, he wielded his generous dimensions with a virile grace that made Phee’s mouth water. He stood with his long legs planted wide, shoulders thrown back. His chest was so broad that she itched to touch it.

Stop being a ninny, she chided herself. The most essential observation was that he did not look like a man who’d pined for her. Not a hint of guilt shadowed his gaze.

He thrust his hands behind his back, and the buttons above his waistcoat strained against the fabric on either side, as if the muscles beneath were too sizable to contain. Phee’s gaze riveted to the spot, waiting to see which would win—the pearly buttons or the dove gray fabric. When sense finally wound its way into her boggled mind, she glanced up into gilded brown eyes. He was the winner, judging by the satisfied smirk cresting his mouth.

Kit stood too near, close enough for her to smell his scent. A familiar green, like fresh-cut grass, but mingled now with an aromatic spice. Each breath held his spice scent heightened by the warmth of his body. The heat of him radiated against her chest.

His eyes were too intense, too hungry. He perused her brazenly, studying the hem of her outdated gown before his gaze roved up her legs, paused at her waist, lingered on her bosom, and caught for a moment on her lips. Finally, he met her eyes, and his mouth flicked up in a shameless grin.

She looked anywhere but at his eyes. On his neck, she noted the scar from a childhood adventure in the blackberry briar. Then she got stuck admiring his hair. Apparently his scandalous London lifestyle—if the rumors she’d heard were true—called for allowing his jet black hair to grow long and ripple in careless waves. Strands licked at his neck, curled up near his shoulders.

Time had been truly unfair. The years hadn’t weathered Kit at all. If anything, his features were sharper and more appealing. His Roman nose contrasted with the sensual fullness of his lips and those high Ruthven cheekbones. And his eyes. Gold and amber and chocolate hues chased each other around a pinwheel, all shadowed by enviably thick ebony lashes. One theater reviewer had written of the “power of his penetrating gaze.”

Ophelia only knew he’d once been able to see straight to her heart.

Retreating from his magnetic pull, she dipped her head and stared at his polished black boots, the neatly tailored cuffs of his trousers. Black as pitch, his clothing reminded her why he was here. He’d come to the village to bury his father. He was no doubt as eager to return to London as she was to close her eyes and make the too tempting sight of him disappear. But why had he come to her home?

“My condolences to you and your sisters,” she offered, and almost added Mr. Ruthven. That’s what everyone in the village would call him now, and they would expect him to live up to the name. Just as his father had.

“You didn’t attend the funeral.”

“Would your father have wished me to?” They both knew Kit’s father had never welcomed her presence in his life. She didn’t bother mentioning that Ruthven’s rule book explicitly instructed ladies to avoid funerals.

He shrugged. “I only know what I wished.”

There it was. The heart of all that had passed between them spelled out in six words. Kit had never doubted what he wanted—freedom, fame as a playwright, financial success on his own terms. Unfortunately, she’d never made it high enough on his list.

“Forgive me for missing your father’s funeral. I promise to call on your sisters soon.” Ophelia slid the door toward him, forcing him to retreat as she eased it closed. “Thank you for your visit.”

Pushing his sizable booted foot forward, he wedged it between the door and its frame. “I don’t think we can count this as a visit until you invite me in.”




by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British
costume drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes
sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes
who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A
former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than
being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy


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Posted by on November 1, 2016 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights


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INTERVIEW with Tamara Gill author of Only an Earl Will Do ~ #Giveaway

Welcome to the blog! Please help me welcome Tamara Gill, author of Only an Earl Will Do. If you haven’t had a chance to read any of Tamara’s books you should run and grab a copy. You’ll enjoy her writing style!

Tamara has agreed to answer a few questions so we can get to know her a little better. Afterward check out the blurb and excerpt for Only an Earl Will Do, and then enter her awesome giveaway!

Let’s get started …

Describe yourself in tweet form. That’s right, you get 140 characters 🙂


Author of Regency, historical & time travel romance. Mum and Aussie.


Great job, you got in some great details 🙂 What’s your favorite room in your house?


My office.


Tell us the last thing you cooked?


Dinner last night – steak and vegetables. Sounds quite boring when you write it down.


Nothing boring about steak 🙂 What was the first word that came to mind when you saw the cover for ONLY AN EARL WILL DO?


Love!!!! I really loved it once it was done. Just beautiful.


It is a fabulous cover! How do you feel about writing love scenes?


I like writing them, but the trick is to keep them different from all the others you’ve written before. That’s the hard part. There are only so many things people can do. *wink*


lol…I feel the same. I love naming my characters. How did you go about choosing the hero and heroine in ONLY AN EARL WILL DO?


I looked up names used in the Regency era and picked two that went together and that I liked. I have more trouble coming up with titles than first names.


Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?


I’m working on a Scottish time travel romance series, book one TO CONQUER A SCOT is out on submission now, and book two, TO SAVE A SAVAGE SCOT, is coming along nicely. I’m also working on a Regency romance series proposal.

I love a good time travel. I can’t wait to read them 🙂


RANDOM FUN : Finish this sentence:


When I was young I wanted to grow up to be: Archaeologist

The next book on my tbr pile is: I’m trying to finish Gena Showalter’s Lords of the Underworld series.

I will never: Steal.

My favorite television show is: Outlander and Game of Thrones. These are equal in my estimation.

I wish I could: Get over my fear of flying.

Chocolate: Always



Henry is determined to make the only woman who captured his heart his wife.


To Marry a Rogue #1
Tamara Gill
Releasing July 25th, 2016
Entangled Select Historical


The reigning queen of London
society, Lady Elizabeth Worthingham, has her future set out for her. Marry
well, and marry without love. An easy promise to make and one she owed her
family after her near ruinous past that threatened them all. And the rakish
scoundrel Henry Andrews, Earl of Muir whose inability to act a gentleman when
she needed one most would one day pay for his treachery.
Returning to England after three
years abroad, Henry is determined to make the only woman who captured his heart
his wife. But the icy reception he receives from Elizabeth is colder than his
home in the Scottish highlands. As past hurts surface and deception runs as
thick as blood, so too does a love that will overcome all obstacles, unless a
nameless foe, determined with his own path, gets his way and their love never
sees the light of day…


Elizabeth hid a repulsed shudder over Lord Riddledale, who stood pompous and proud across the floor, the ever-present scowl on his face no surprise. No doubt her stepping out with another gentleman other than himself had put him out of countenance. She turned back to her sister. “I cannot summon any remorse for annoying Riddledale. As for Lord Dean, I’ll be sorry to hurt him, but no, I will not marry him no matter how much his heart breaks over my decision.”

“Could your feelings change in time, do you believe?” Victoria asked.



Elizabeth shook her head. “No.”


She swallowed the familiar lump which formed in her throat every time she thought of him, the man she refused to name, even in her own thoughts. “I’m not the loving kind. I don’t believe it’s healthy to rely on such feeble unstable emotions when someone is entering the marriage state. Men and their need to be adored, looked up to in awe, can go hang. Lord Newland’s name protects me now. I have no need to marry again.”

Victoria threw her a dubious look. “I believe there is nothing purer and good than love, especially if you are fortunate enough to have it in a marriage.” Her sister sighed, the sound tinged with sadness. “You promised Papa you would try.”

“I am well aware of what I promised Papa, but he did not stipulate marriage is what I should try. I’m friendly and affable. That is enough.”

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 is an Australian author who
grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of
history was founded. So much so, she made her darling husband travel to the UK
for their honeymoon, where she dragged him from one historical monument and
castle to another. A mother of three, her two little gentleman’s in the making,
a future lady (she hopes) and a part-time job keep her busy in the real world,
but whenever she gets a moment’s peace she loves to write romance novels in an
array of genres, including regency, medieval and time travel. Tamara loves
hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her
website, and sign up to follow her blog or newsletter.

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Posted by on July 28, 2016 in Day to Day Life


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What to Read Wednesday with Madelyn Hill author of Highland Hope ~ #giveaway

I’m so excited you can join me and author Madelyn Hill for What to Read Wednesday! Madelyn is talking about learning the craft of writing and has some useful information to share. She’s also talking about her book Highland Hope which will release on August 31st with Soulmate Publishing. But don’t worry, after you read the excerpt and blurb you’ll want to pre-order your copy today … so go for it!

Afterward, don’t forget to enter her fabulous giveaway. The link is at the end of the post 🙂

Take it away Madelyn …

Constantly Learning the Craft


As a writer, I feel you need to constantly work on your craft. There are numerous ways to do this and each author works differently, however here are a few of my methods for being a life-long learner.


Listen to your editor: For my first novel Wolf’s Castle, I accepted ALL of the comments, grammar, and structure recommendations. With Heather In The Mist, there were more plot points and character adjustments. For Highland Hope, there weren’t as many line edits, however more of plot questions from the editor in order to make my plot stronger and characters engaging. In my opinion, the comments from the editor helped me re-evaluate what I had written and with a cold eye I cut those darlings.


Read, read, and read some more: A writer has to be a reader. I know some authors who do not read any books in the genre they write. I can see the logic behind this. I, however, read everything and anything. This includes books, magazines, and newspaper (online and the old fashion paper ones) articles. You never know where inspiration will strike. Although I am a historical writer, a contemporary situation may influence my story, something I can tweak to make it historically relevant.


Craft Articles: As a tech geek, I decided there has to be a better way to search out craft articles, so now I use the RSS feed to have articles funnel to my Twitter feed. Now I can look at articles from several writing blogs. Here are some of the articles I recently read:


There are so many intelligent voices out there in blog land and I like the various topics that range from conflict to characterization to social networking for authors. All tools to add to my writer toolbox!


What do you do to keep perfecting your craft?



Enter to Win a $10 Amazon Gift Card


The Wild Thistle Trilogy #1
Madelyn Hill
Releasing August 31st, 2016
Soul Mate Publishing
Remember, lasses. Through Hope,
Faith and Honor, ye can rule
,” were the last words Lady Laird Hope
MacAlister’s father spoke before dying. Those very words direct her every
action and thought. Sword fighting and leading the men of her clan is second
nature to Hope and she has little time for herself or any thoughts of love.
Until Aidan MacKerry is captured spying on the clan.
She is beautiful, strong, and quick
to pull a sword. But when he kisses her, all thoughts of the Lairdship flee his
mind. When the enemy continues to undermine Laird MacAlister, Aidan is
determined to aid her—only he didn’t think he’d lose his heart to the Laird of
Wild Thistle Keep. When the enemy reveals Aidan’s secret, he must fight for his
right as laird and prove despite their differences, he loves Hope.
The enemy refuses to back down and
continues to threaten not only Hope, but the security of the entire clan. Only
together will they be able to save the clan and save their love.


She sighed and set her free hand at her waist. “We need to find my sister, not stand her havering.”

Sadness and worry flitted in her gaze. Heartache over her mother he assumed and mayhap a wayward sister. The grief seemed to consume her as they walked and Aidan loathed to see a sad woman—even if it was Laird Hope MacAlister. If she started crying he’d certain flee, for nothing was worse than consoling a woman in tears. But he doubted she’d show such vulnerability to him.

She glanced toward the other caves and then back toward the keep. She gave a frustrated sigh.  Her face soft with desperation to find her sister. She was worried and inside she was fretting and he knew only one way to take a woman’s mind off her troubles.

He stepped toward her and swept her in his arms. Her eyes widened as he descended, slowly so not to make her skittish, but with enough purpose she knew his desire. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out quickly to wet the plump surface. His lips brushed against hers with a soft caress. She gripped his arms and pushed. He kissed her again, slanting his mouth over hers. She stiffened, then her fingers dug into his biceps as her lips relented, accepted his kiss. As a moan escaped her lips, masculine triumph flared and he delved deeper. A sizzling leap of lust cursed through him. God, she felt good in his arms. Aidan ripped his mouth from hers and narrowed his gaze. His chest heaved. His blood sang. Through hooded eyes, he watched her and inhaled the womanly scent about her. Hope’s face was flushed, her eyes glazed. Aidan reached for her again.






Madelyn Hill has always loved the written word. From the time she
could read and all through her school years, she’d sneak books into her
textbooks during school. And she devoured books daily. At the age of 10 she
proclaimed she wanted to be a writer. After being a “closet” writer
for several years, she sent her manuscripts out there and is now published with
Soul Mate Publishing. And she couldn’t be happier!
A resident of Western New York, she moved from one Rochester to
another Rochester to be with the love of her life. They have 3 children and
keep busy cooking, avid movie goers, and of course reading!



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Posted by on July 13, 2016 in What to Read Wednesday


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INTERVIEW with Darcy Burke author of The Duke of Daring ~ #giveaway

Happy Monday! Thank you for joining me on the blog today 🙂 I’m excited to have author Darcy Burke visiting. We had a fun interview and I think you’ll enjoy getting to know her as much as I did.

Afterward check out her latest release THE DUKE OF DARING ~ and don’t forget to enter her wonderful giveaway. The link is at the end of the post.

Okay, let’s get started …

Please tell us about yourself in 3 sentences.

I’ve been happily married for almost 25 years (yes, I was a child bride, lol) and being a mom to my two kids is my greatest joy. I’m a cat person (we currently have three) and my happy places are Disneyland (I’m there right now!) and Labor Day weekend at the Gorge where we see the Dave Matthews Band. My family is very important to me and while I love to travel, there’s no place like home.

I agree, there is no place like home even though traveling is awesome. What would we see if we opened your fridge?

Cheese (it’s the perfect food), ketchup (my favorite condiment), milk, iced tea, and some sort of alcoholic beverage (wine, beer, or cider).

Love it. Describe your book in tweet form 🙂 That’s right you get 140 characters.

An intrepid wallflower gets unsolicited help from a dashing earl & sparks fly! Falling in love may be their greatest adventure…

I love choosing character names, how did you go about choosing yours?

Choosing historical names is fun for me. I look at birth records from the time period and place in which I’m writing. I’ve been waiting for the right heroine to call Lucy and I think that name fits this one perfectly. Andrew wasn’t the first name I chose for this hero, but the placeholder I used wasn’t working.

Describe your favorite place to write.

It varies. I often write at my desk, but when I need to focus and crank out a lot of words, I usually find a cozy place to sit–my bed or the love seat in my bedroom.

How do you feel about writing love scenes?

It depends! Sometimes they flow really easily, but I’ll be honest, with historical they can be tough due to the clothing! It’s a balance to keep things realistic and sexy at the same time, lol.

RANDOM FUN : Finish This Sentence:

The last card I received in the mail was a thank you note from the head secretary at my kids’ elementary school. We just “graduated” from there and I’m going to miss her so much.

My toothbrush is a spinbrush.

Someday I plan on taking my mom back to England where she was born. 🙂

My last vacation was to Southern California with my family. We visited Disneyland, Universal Studios, and the San Diego Zoo. It was so fun! (As I write this, I’m actually there, lol.)

I can’t go anywhere without my phone, primarily so I can be connected to my kids. Sad but true!

My favorite movie is Notting Hill.

Love is the one risk he doesn’t have the heart to dare.


The Untouchables #2
Darcy Burke
Releasing July 5th, 2016
Lucinda Parnell is out of money. A dismal failure at the Marriage Mart, she’d
just as soon leave Society far behind. Desperate to earn funds to retire with
her grandmother to the country, Lucy disguises herself as a man to gamble in
London’s hells. But the Earl of Dartford, an Untouchable she never imagined
speaking to let alone spending time with, is onto her in a trice. When he
insists on acting as her protector, Lucy fears her chance to remain an
independent woman is destined to go up in flames.
losing his entire family, Andrew Wentworth, Earl of Dartford built a wall
to keep attachments at bay. He believed he could keep Miss Parnell safe without
compromising his defenses, but she’s exciting and irresistible. Their deepening
relationship makes him even more determined to push her away. Nothing will stop
him from trying to avoid reliving the anguish of loss. Love is the one risk he
doesn’t have the heart to dare.


“Yes, let’s be direct with one another, shall we?”

Lucy blinked at him. “I am always direct.”

“Unless you’re trying to fool people into thinking you’re a man.” His sarcasm was simultaneously annoying and charming.

“Yes, that. A necessary transgression, I’m sure you agree.”

His brow arched. “I hardly think you care whether I agree.”

He had her there. She grinned. “Maybe a little. I mean, I do care. A little.” She’d come to like Dartford during their brief acquaintance, in spite of his moments of arrogance and imperiousness. She looked forward to another adventure or two with him. “You have my word that I won’t venture out without your assistance. Shall we set our next appointment?”

His eyes widened briefly. He seemed a bit surprised at the ease with which she’d agreed. “Excellent. Tell me when, and I’ll meet you as I did tonight.”

“Four nights hence, at half past eleven.”

The hackney drew to a halt on Bolton Street, but not in front of her house. They stepped out of the cab, and Dartford paid the coachman.

With her house in sight, weariness seeped into Lucy’s frame. She longed to pluck all the padding from her body and scrub her face clean after discarding the fake sideburns.

Dartford walked with her toward the house. “What would your grandmother say if she knew you were doing this?”

Lucy suffered a pang of guilt. “She’d be horrified.”

“What does she think you’re going to do once she retires?”

They’d reached her house. Lucy stopped and turned toward him. “She expects me to marry.”

“And is that a possibility?” he asked. Shadows played across his face, but she could see his eyes clearly. They were dark, intelligent, often filled with humor. His cheekbones gave definition, while his chin, square with a slight cleft, provided character. He bore an appealing countenance. No, that wasn’t at all fair. He was exceptionally handsome. And an earl. Precisely the kind of man her grandmother had hoped she would marry but who’d consistently ignored her the past five years. An Untouchable.

She tamped down a scowl, suddenly annoyed anew at her predicament, which was silly since she’d abandoned the idea of marriage. A choice she didn’t regret in the slightest.

She gestured to her costume and the sideburns stuck to her face, currently making her itch. “Would I be doing this if it were?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it is possible, but you don’t wish to marry, so you choose this instead.”

That actually summed up her current attitude quite accurately. She would choose this over marriage. “As it happens, Idon’t wish to marry.”

“Indeed?” He cocked his head to the side. “How surprising. We are alike, then, because I don’t wish to marry either. Some distant cousin will need to inherit the title.”

She wanted to ask why but didn’t. That would encourage him to ask her the same, and she had no intention of explaining that to him. Besides, it was best if they didn’t become too…close. This was a necessary partnership, but they weren’t going to be lifelong friends.

“Are those comfortable?” He reached out with his fingertips and brushed the sideburn glued along her right jawline.

She ignored the frisson of delight that sparked down her neck. “Not particularly. In fact, I’d like a few days to recover from wearing them.”

“I should like to see you without them.” His dark gaze penetrated through her carefully constructed wall, and his deep voice shot straight into her chest, stirring the inconvenient attraction she felt toward him.

Her breath caught. “I doubt you ever will.”

His mouth ticked up in a half smile. “Don’t tease me. Please. Not when I’ve been so helpful. Think of all you won tonight.”

All she’d won. It wasn’t just the money. Not to her. She’d won respect with her shooting, even if she couldn’t tell them she was a woman.

She took a step back, determined to put space between herself and this suddenly dangerous man. “I appreciate your help, but I won’t share credit for my winnings. They are mine alone.”

He gave a slight bow. “My apologies,” he murmured.

“I’ll see you in a few days.” She turned from him.

“Not if I see you first,” he said.

Amazon | B
& N
 | iTunes | Kobo


Darcy Burke is the USA Today bestselling author of hot,
action-packed historical and sexy, emotional contemporary romance. Darcy wrote
her first book at age 11, a happily-ever-after about a swan addicted to magic
and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations.
A native
Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming
husband, their two hilarious kids-who each seem to have inherited the writing
gene in some form-and two Bengal cats. In her “spare” time Darcy is a
serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say
“no,” but she keeps having to start over. Her happy places are
Disneyland and Labor Day weekend at the Gorge.

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Posted by on July 11, 2016 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights


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BOOK BLAST ~ An Artful Seduction by Tina Gabrielle ~ #giveaway

lust for revenge will be his downfall…


Infamous Somertons #1
Tina Gabrielle
Releasing June 20th, 2016
Entangled Scandalous
His lust
for revenge will be his downfall…
London, 1815. Eliza Somerton has a dangerous
secret. As the daughter of the infamous art forger who duped half the ton,
she’s rebuilt her life under a new name. But when an old forgery goes up for
auction, her father’s enemy, Grayson Montgomery, outbids her and presents her
with an unimaginable choice: help him find her father or he’ll ruin her.
For years, Grayson, the Earl of
Huntingdon and one of London’s top art critics, has sought justice. His
well-laid plans finally come to fruition when he learns of his enemy’s
beautiful daughter. But Eliza possesses a sensuality and independent spirit
that weakens his resolve, and as the heat between them sizzles, what started as
revenge soon blossoms into something sinful…


“Do you like what you see?”

Eliza spun around at a masculine voice. Lord Huntingdon stood in the doorway—tall, broad, and compellingly male. Her heart started to pound. Goodness! In the afternoon sunlight from the drawing room windows, he was even more handsome than at the auction. He was dressed in a meticulously tailored jacket of navy superfine, buff-colored trousers, and shiny black Hessians. His dark hair curled around his collar, and he appeared to be a gentleman of fashion that matched the artwork in his drawing room.

But Eliza wasn’t fooled. There was a predatory gleam in his dark eyes that simmered beneath his polished veneer.

How long had he stood there observing her?

“I was told you weren’t receiving,” she said.

“I wasn’t. Until my butler informed me I was to buy artwork from you.” His tone held a note of challenge.

She forced herself to smile, all the while wondering if he would have her thrown out.

But the earl strolled into the room and held up her card. “The Peacock Print Shop. What precisely do you sell?”

“Paintings, engravings, and decorative items. Work from aspiring, local artists.”

“You compete with Ackerman’s in the Strand?”

“Not its clientele. Our customers are well-to-do merchants who wish to own a piece of art, but not pay Ackerman’s exorbitant prices,” she said.


She looked at the frames on the drawing room wall and struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. “I don’t see the Jan Wildens painting that you purchased at the Tutton auction.”

An appealing smile curved his lips. “Ah, I knew there must be more to your visit than you led my butler to believe, Mrs. Somerton. For a moment, I thought you liked me.”

Could he tell she found him attractive? She struggled to calm her racing heart and gave him a pointed look. “Let us speak plainly, my lord. I don’t believe you truly desire the Wildens painting.”

He tsked. “Untrue. I plan on hanging it in my private gallery. Would you like a tour?”

She’d love one. She could spend hours in a museum if she were not a struggling tradeswoman. “Thank you, but no. I truly am here on business.”

“Business?” He arched a dark eyebrow as if the mere thought of a woman visiting for business purposes was ludicrous.

“Yes. I have a proposition for you.”

He walked closer, his smooth movements reminding her of a jungle cat. “A proposition? What an interesting choice of words.”

Her pulse skittered alarmingly at his nearness. “A business offer, my lord.”

“You have my interest.” He gestured toward a pale gold settee. “Please sit, Mrs. Somerton. If we are to discuss your offer, let’s be comfortable.”

He ignored a nearby armchair and sat beside her on the settee. Leaning against the cushions, he stretched his long legs, his polished Hessians shining in the sunlight streaming from the windows.

Eliza was not easily intimidated. She was no longer a young girl straight from the schoolroom, but a woman who worked for her living. But Lord Huntingdon was an imposing man…a big man. Everything about him was alarming, from his height of over six feet, to his broad shoulders, and his chiseled features. He was rumored to be immensely wealthy, a much sought-after bachelor who could be charming when it served him, and highly intelligent.

It was the last trait that concerned her.

“It’s not every day a beautiful lady visits with a business proposal.”

His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her.

She took a breath. “It should come as no surprise to you that I want the Jan Wildens painting.”

“It’s not for sale.”

She placed her leather case on a dainty end table and withdrew an engraving. “I plan to sweeten the deal. As I stated, I sell works from aspiring, local artists. They are exquisite pieces. As an influential art critic and enthusiastic collector, I’m sure you will be interested.”

Just as she thought, his curiosity was piqued at the mention of the artwork. The engraving was of a religious scene, Madonna with child, and the work painstaking and impressive. The artist, an unknown laborer, displayed his work at Eliza’s shop. Once sold, they would split the earnings.

Huntingdon sat forward and studied the piece. “The detail is quite astonishing for a new artist.”

Hope blossomed in her chest. “You can have it plus the fifty pounds I had planned to pay at the auction in exchange for the Wildens painting.”

Pushing the engraving aside, his dark eyes studied her intently. “It’s not enough.”

Her heart sank.

Then he leaned close, very close, until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her pulse quickened and a disturbing tingling began in the pit of her stomach. She’d been wrong about his eyes, she realized. They weren’t black, but a rich, coffee brown.

“There are other types of beauty,” he said, “living beauty which I crave.”

Her heart thundered at his outrageous words. “How dare you! I’m not for sale, my lord.”

“Ah, but you are, Mrs. Somerton. You are very much for sale, and I—”

She came to her senses and reached up to slap him. But he was too quick, grasping her wrist before she made contact with his cheek.

His eyes narrowed. “The Jan Wildens oil is a forgery, albeit a meticulous and frighteningly good one,” he said, his voice cold and exact.

A cold knot formed in her stomach. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You’re very good. At first I thought it was your father’s work, but the brushwork is slightly different, the signature not a perfect match. You were taught well. I’m not surprised since you’re Jonathan Miller’s daughter.”

He knows!

She felt as if her breath was cut off. He thought she had created the forgery. She’d go to her grave before she confessed it was her sister’s work.

Her voice wavered. “You can’t prove it.”

“I am an expert.”

“You were wrong before, as I recall,” Eliza said sharply.

She could have bit her tongue the moment the words left her lips. His face hardened like granite at the mention of the past when he had been fooled by her father.

His fingers tensed on her wrist. “I lost my credibility as a critic at the Royal Academy because of your father. It took me years to earn back my reputation. Jonathan Miller was never found and tried for his crimes.”

She was right; Huntington thirsted for revenge. She’d come here to prevent disaster, but had caused it instead. She suppressed the panic rising in her chest. She couldn’t give in to it now, not when she needed all her wits about her to survive.

He released her wrist suddenly. “Your choice of artwork to forge is interesting. The Flemish painter Jan Wildens—an artist who often painted backgrounds for the popular Peter Paul Rubens.”

“I’m duly impressed by your artistic knowledge.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Wildens is someone your father would have chosen. Miller never copied the masters, but less acknowledged artists, oftentimes a master’s students or assistants. That way the history of a painting’s ownership was much more ambiguous and could be concocted by a crafty and shrewd art broker.”

It was true. Amelia had followed her father’s reasoning when she’d chosen to forge Jan Wildens.

Despite her inner turmoil, Eliza lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze. “Since you’re certain of your opinion, I shall see myself out—”

“Oh no, you won’t. You’ve come to bargain, remember?”

“I have nothing you want.”

He gave her body a raking gaze. “To the contrary, I like what I see.”

An alarming heat curled low in her belly. Could she do it? Trade her body for the painting…for their survival?

Yes, if it means protecting Amelia and Chloe.

She swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. “Just what are you proposing?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “As tempting as I find the offer, Mrs. Somerton. I’ve never forced a woman into my bed. I’ve never had the need.”

She felt her face grow hot with humiliation. Had she misinterpreted so badly? “Then what do you want?”




Tina Gabrielle, an award-winning author, is an
attorney and former mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure
helped her get through years of academia. She’s the author of adventurous
Regency romances In The Barrister’s Bed, In The Barrister’s Chambers, Lady Of
Scandal, and A Perfect Scandal from Kensington Books. “A Spy
Unmasked” is the first book in her new Regency romance series, “In
The Crown’s Secret Service,” and will be released from Entangled
Publishing on November 10, 2014. “At The Spy’s Pleasure” will be
available in April 2015. Tina’s books have been Barnes & Noble top picks,
and her first book, Lady Of Scandal, was nominated as best first historical by
Romantic Times Book Reviews.

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Posted by on June 21, 2016 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights


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BOOK BLAST ~ Chasing the Heiress by Rachael Miles ~ #giveaway

Enter to Win a Print copy of CHASING THE HEIRESS


The Muses’ Salon #2
Rachael Miles
Released May 31st, 2016
Zebra Shout
On The Run
Lady Arabella Lucia Fairborne has no
need of a husband. She has a fine inheritance for the taking, a perfectly
capable mind, and a resolve as tough as nails. But what she doesn’t have is the
freedom to defy her cousin’s will–and his will is to see her married
immediately to the husband of his choosing. So is it any wonder that she
dresses herself as a scullery maid and bolts into the night?
Colin Somerville’s current mission
for the home office is going poorly. Who would have expected otherwise for a
rakish spy tasked with transporting a baby to the care of the royal palace. But
when, injured and out of ideas, Colin stumbles upon a beautiful maid who knows
her way around a sickroom, it seems salvation has arrived. Until he realizes
that though Lucy may be able to help him survive his expedition, he may not
escape this ordeal with his heart intact…


It had taken Colin two days to travel to Holywell, two days in which he had steeled himself to smile and be charming. But ultimately the princess had charmed him. Heiress to a mining magnate, Marietta had caught the eye of a visiting (and impoverished) member of the Habsburg royal family. Though she had been impeccably trained at the best finishing school in Paris, when Colin arrived, he found her teaching the housekeeper’s parrot to curse in five European languages. “Don’t call me Princess,” she whispered, casting a grim eye to the housekeeper, hovering at the edge of the terrace. “Or she will raise my rate.”

It had taken three more days to separate Marietta’s pos-sessions into two groups: those which the carriage could carry and those which would have to be shipped from Liver-pool around the coast to London. Most difficult had been determining exactly which clothes she could (and could not) do without for her first week at court. Then, just when he had thought that they might set out, she had insisted that his coachman, Fletcher, accompany her trunks across the inlet to ensure they were well stowed for their London journey. All told, he had been gone from London for more than a week before he bundled Marietta, her paints, her embroidery, her knitting, her books, and a handful of magazines into the carriage and set off on their trip. But somehow he had not minded. Marietta was sweet, resilient, and companionable, anticipating the birth of her child with real joy.

He shifted in his seat, but his legs—outstretched on the backward-facing seat to give Marietta more room—felt like leaden weights, long past numb from a lack of circulation. He moved one foot down into the small space remaining between Marietta’s feet and the carriage door. The blood began to move agonizingly into one set of toes.

He unfolded his map and began to recalculate their trip. Holywell to London was two hundred and eight miles. Even a mail coach, traveling at seven miles an hour, could travel the distance in thirty-two hours, and his brother’s third-best carriage was able to clip along at ten. But the princess needed substantive food, frequent stops, a real bed at night, and opportunities to shop at any tempting village store they passed. Their first day, they travelled only to Wrexham. Twenty-six miles in six hours. Their second day would measure little more. He had already promised she could spend the night—and morning—in Shrewsbury. Using his fore-finger as a measure, he counted off the miles from Shrews-bury to London. The return would take a sennight, if he were lucky.

Marietta moaned and tried to shift her weight. Why— he berated himself for the fiftieth time—hadn’t he borrowed a better carriage? One with ample seats, thick comfortable bolsters, and better springs. If he were to play escort to a pregnant princess, why hadn’t the Home Office informed him? Had they intentionally withheld the information? Or had they not known?

He forced his attention back to the map. If Marietta gave birth on the road with only him and Fletcher for midwives, he would kill someone in the Home Office. He wasn’t yet sure who. Perhaps the lot of them, but he would begin by strangling Harrison Walgrave.

The carriage began to slow, the springs creaking into a new rhythm. Colin waited for Fletcher to offer the usual signals: two slow taps for an inn, a fast double-tap for a crossroads, and a heavy heel-kick for danger. But no taps, kicks, yells, or pistol shots alarmed him, except perhaps the nagging absence of any warnings.

Colin tapped on the roof and waited. No response. His senses grew more alert, listening, but he heard nothing beyond the normal sounds of a country road.

Even so, he shifted his second foot—still numb—from the opposite seat to the floor and slid several inches towards the middle of the bench. There, Colin moved a cushion aside to reveal a built-in pistol cabinet that had been added by his brother, the Duke of Forster.

His movement wakened Marietta, and she began to speak, but he held up his finger before his lips, then touched his ear. Be quiet: I’m listening. Her green eyes, always expressive, widened, and she nodded understanding. She pulled the thick feather comforter up over her belly, as if to hide.

The door handle moved slightly as someone tried to open the door. Luckily Colin had bolted it from the inside. Their highwayman grew frustrated, pulling against the door handle several times.

Reacting viscerally, Colin wrenched the pistol cabinet door open. But before he could withdraw the pistols, the window glass shattered inward. Marietta recoiled and tried to push herself up as the curtains were torn away, wrenched outward. Colin moved to protect Marietta, trying to place himself between the princess and the broken window. But his feet found no solid purchase, just a river of down shifting beneath his weight. Losing his balance, he fell back hard onto the seat.

Two hands in long leather gloves, each holding a pistol, reached through the window frame into the carriage.

As in battle, everything slowed. Both pistols pointed at a spot in the middle of his chest. At this range, he had no hope of surviving. And he felt more relief than fear.

Colin held out his hands to show he was unarmed. He could see nothing of the highwayman. Only a dark duster and a mask.

The guns didn’t fire.

One pistol shifted to the opposite seat. But Marietta wasn’t there. Seeing her on the floor, the highwayman repositioned his sights.

Realizing in an instant this was no robbery, Colin flung himself between Marietta and the barrel. He heard the cock of the trigger, saw the flash of fire, and felt the hit of the ball in his side. Black powder burned his flesh.

Dark smoke filled the cabin, and he choked, coughing.

His ears rung from the boom of the gunshot, but he saw the flash of the second pistol firing along with a shower of sparks from the side and barrel of the gun. He felt Marietta’s scream. He pulled himself up, half standing, one hand against the carriage roof to steady himself. His side stabbed with pain at each expansion of his lungs.

Marietta tried to rise behind him, choking as well. She pulled against the clothes on his back, but he brushed her hands away. When the smoke cleared, his body would stand between Marietta and their assailant. He would die. But after Belgium, he felt dead already—what would be the difference?

Marietta beat the backs of his legs. Small burning embers burned on Marietta’s pallet. Some of the lit sparks from the pistols had fallen onto the down-filled bed. He assessed the dangers automatically. Once the embers ate past the woolen cover and fire caught the feathers, the danger would spread quickly.

Still on the floor, Marietta pushed herself backwards toward the opposite door, kicking the smoldering bolsters and pallet away from her. With each kick, she further entangled his feet. He couldn’t reach her, at least not easily. And he couldn’t reach and load a gun without stepping from his defensive position in front of her. Thick smoke burned his eyes.

With neither sound nor sight to help him, he had to choose: the dangers of the fire, growing with each second, or those of the highwaymen who could be waiting outside. Tensing, he unbolted the door, pushed it open, and leapt out. His leg hitting wrong, he fell and rolled into the ditch beside the road. He raised himself cautiously. The highwaymen were gone, having attacked, then left. Not robbers then.

He pulled himself to standing. He should worry about Fletcher and the postboy, Bobby, but there was no time. Smoke from the feather-stuffed pallet billowed from the coach. He could see Marietta’s legs, vigorously kicking the smoldering bed away from her. She was alive, but trapped against the locked door on the opposite side of the carriage.

Ignoring the pain below his ribs, he pulled hard on the pallet, dragging a portion through the coach door. Already, the smoldering feathers were breaking through the wool in patches of open flame. He heaved again, releasing all but a third from the coach. Flames began to dance across the pallet.

If the pallet broke apart before he could remove it, he’d have to sacrifice the carriage, and then he could offer little protection to Marietta. He pulled hard once more, and the pallet fell onto the green verge next to the road. Then, to protect neighboring crops and livestock, he dragged the pallet, flames licking at his hands, into the middle of the road, where it could burn without harm. Once carriage and countryside were out of danger, he hunched over, hands on his knees, and tried to breathe without expanding his lower rib cage.

After a few minutes to recover his breath, Colin looked up at the carriage. Fletcher remained at his post, his body slumped forward.

Colin climbed the side of the coach, gritting his teeth against the pain. Blood oozed through the hair at the back of the coachman’s head. Pressing his fingers to the older man’s neck, Colin felt the beat of the artery. Alive.

Listening and watching for trouble, Colin weighed his options.

They needed to move, to get off the open road. But for that, he needed Fletcher conscious. At least he wouldn’t have to explain to Cook how her man had been killed on a quiet English road after surviving a dozen campaigns against Boney.

Still unable to hear, Colin retrieved a water flask from under the coachman’s seat. Tenderly cradling the older man’s head, Colin washed the blood away. The wound was a long gash, slantways from the back of Fletcher’s ear toward the back of his head. He pressed his fingers against the gash. Long but not deep and worst at the curve of Fletcher’s head where the weapon bit hardest through the skin.

Fletcher moaned.

Colin lifted Fletcher’s chin. “Pistol shot. Can’t hear.” Colin picked up the fallen reins and held them out. “Can you drive?”

Fletcher took the reins in one hand. Then, raising his eyes to Colin’s, Fletcher held out his other hand, palm down, as one does when indicating a person’s height.

“Bobby?” Colin looked around for the postilion. Fletcher’s nephew had grown up on the ducal estate. The loss of Fletcher or Bobby would devastate the household.

Fletcher nodded yes, then scowled. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and supported his head with his hands.

“I’ll find him. Stay with Marietta.” Colin took the rifle and the cartridge bag from beneath the coachman’s seat, loaded the gun, then placed both on the bench. Fletcher put his hand on the gun.

Colin leapt from the coach, gritting his teeth against the pain as his feet hit the ground. Then, walking back along the road, Colin began looking for the boy, searching through the overgrown verges and dreading what he might find. A child’s body bleeding and broken after a fall from the carriage. Let him be alive . . . and, if wounded, with wounds that can heal.

Colin turned at the curve.

About a tenth of a mile beyond, he saw the boy’s body at the verge of the road. Colin ran to the boy and knelt beside him, checking his wounds. No gunshots. Colin felt his relief like cool water on a parched tongue. Bobby’s arm was twisted before his chest, as if he had been flung from the coach-top or dragged down from it. But Bobby was alive. Fletcher, Bobby, Marietta, all alive. At least their deaths wouldn’t weigh heavy on his conscience.

The boy struggled to lift himself up and began to speak.

But Colin shook his head, pointing to his ears. “Can’t hear.”

Bobby pointed to his ankle. Colin felt it. No obvious broken bones. “Can you stand?”

The boy shrugged and held out his uninjured arm for help. Ignoring the arm, Colin lifted the boy to his feet. Luckily Bobby was still small and lithe, not the strapping youth he would be in another year. Colin supported Bobby’s weight gently as the boy tested his ankle, gingerly at first, then with more pressure. When Bobby tried to step fully on the ankle, he recoiled in pain.

“Let me help.” Colin wrapped his arm around Bobby’s waist, avoiding his injured arm. The two walked slowly back to the carriage. There, Fletcher and Colin helped the boy to the seat next to Fletcher, and Bobby took up the pistols.

When Bobby was settled, Colin motioned for Fletcher’s attention. “Where’s the other one? The one the stable master insisted would care for the horses?”

Hit me, Fletcher mouthed, demonstrating a blow to the back of his head.

Colin’s strength suddenly faded. “How far to the next inn?”

Fletcher held up two fingers, then three. Two to three miles.

Colin moved slowly to the open carriage door, calling out in case Marietta’s ears had recovered from the pistol shots. “Marietta, there’s an inn within the hour.”

He stepped in front of the open door. Marietta was seated on the floor, leaning against the backward-facing seat riser, her legs bent at odd angles. Her eyes closed, she held one hand to her chest, the other cradled her belly. At her shoulder, blood seeped through her fingers, covering her hand and staining the front of her chemise. Blood pooled on the floor below her.

Colin’s chest clenched. He swung himself into the carriage, yelling “Fletcher! Drive!” as he pulled the door shut behind him.

He pulled off his cravat and tore it into strips to make a bandage, then crawled beside her.

To stage an attack and steal nothing . . . not robbery. Murder. He needed to think. But first he needed to slow Marietta’s bleeding.

The carriage began to move, first slowly, then faster, and faster still.

Amazon | B
& N
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 has always loved a good romance, especially one with a bit of
suspense and preferably a ghost. She is also a professor of book history and
nineteenth-century literature whose students frequently find themselves reading
the novels of Ann Radcliffe and other gothic tales. Rachael lives in her home
state of Texas with her indulgent husband, three rescued dogs, and an ancient

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Posted by on June 14, 2016 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights


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What to Read Wednesday Guest #1 ~ INTERVIEW with Christy Carlyle author of One Dangerous Desire ~ giveaway

Happy Wednesday! Today we have a special treat as we have 2 guest authors today. Our first author is Christy Carlyle and she’s answered a few questions so that we can get to know her better. I think you’ll enjoy our little interview.

Afterward check out her book One Dangerous Desire and enter her giveaway 🙂 

Let’s get started …

Thank you for taking the time to hang out with me (us) today.

Thank you for inviting me.

With the growth of historical romance, how do you feel your historical romance stand out among the crowd?

I really feel that every writer has a unique voice, and that’s what distinguishes us from others in our genre, but I am seeing patterns in the kinds of stories I tell. I like strong, bookish heroines, women who are ahead of their time, and I tend to write heroes who can appreciate strong women. Often my characters find conformity to be a challenge, whether it’s living up to parental expectations or society’s notion of success. I’ve fallen in love with a very specific part of the Victorian era, the last decade or so of the century. That period was full of changes in fashion, technology, and all aspects of Victorian society. I think that gives me room to create characters that break a few rules.

Do you think that writing historical romance is one of the most difficult genres to write?  Research wise?  Readers/Critique wise?  

I don’t think it’s a difficult genre to write, but maybe that’s because I love it so much. I was an avid historical romance reader long before I became a historical romance writer. As for the research, I was a history major in college, so the research is just icing on the cake for me. I enjoy every minute of it. In fact, the danger is getting lost in research, which detracts from writing time.

As for readers, I’ve found historical romance readers to be extremely loyal and supportive. Those of us who write and read historical romance share a similar desire to be transported to another time and place through the books we write and read.

What is your favorite part of writing historical romance?  The scoundrels and rakes?  The ladies who speak their minds?  The lovely wallflower waiting to be noticed?  The clothes? The setting?

All of those! Actually I think you’ve identified my favorite heroine, which is the wallflower who speaks her mind. Obviously I want to fall in love with a scoundrel every time I read historical romance too.

Researching settings and clothing for my books helps me give texture to my characters and scenes. I might drill down to the level of wanting to find out historical paint colors or types of carpets during the Victorian era. Those specifics might never make their way into my story, but they definitely inform my descriptions when writing a scene.

If you had to choose only ONE historical romance to read for the rest of your days, which would it be?  and Why?

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas. The hero, Derek Craven, took root in my head the moment I read the story, and I haven’t been able (or wanted) to evict him since. I love a hero who needs to be redeemed. I also remember being hooked by the first chapter when I realized the heroine, Sara Fielding, was a writer. Writer heroine plus bad boy hero is an irresistible equation.

Tell us a little about the Accidental Heirs series.

The series is based on the idea of unexpectedly inheriting wealth rather than being born to it. I wanted my protagonist in each story to have had a life separate from any title or wealth they inherited, and then I wanted to explore what happened when their plans, careers, and lives are changed. So my first hero unexpectedly becomes a viscount, my second hero inherits a dukedom, and my heroine in the third book finds her life taking an entirely different path than what she and everyone else expected of her.

Do you already have a favorite character/couple from the series? 

I have a soft spot for all of my characters, but I think my favorites end up being the last couple I wrote. Rex and May, the hero and heroine of One Dangerous Desire, will always have a special place in my heart because they’re Americans living in London. I’ve visited London several times and lived there briefly, and I truly love the city. Rather than being born in England, both of them are viewing all of its wonders with fresh eyes, and both are also struggling to fit in to Victorian London society.

I also love the fact that Rex and May knew each other in the past. I’m a big believer in forgiveness and second chances, and I love writing stories that explore those themes.

What can we expect next from you? 

I’m thrilled to be working on a new Victorian historical romance series for Avon impulse. The series is called Romancing the Rules and will feature the Ruthven siblings, whose father became famous and wealthy by writing a series of dry, stringent but wildly popular etiquette books. As you can probably guess, the Ruthven heirs are more interested in breaking rules than adhering to etiquette.



Enter to Win a Digital Download Set of Accidental Heirs Books 1 & 2


Accidental Heirs #3
Christy Carlyle
Releasing April 19th, 2016
Avon Impulse
In a bet
between two old flames…
Rex Leighton dominates the boardroom
in the day and prowls the ballroom at night. Searching for the perfect bride to
usher him into the aristocracy, he abandoned the idea of love a long time
ago–the last time he saw the delicious May Sedgwick. But when he’s roped into
a bet, where the prize is the means to fund his greatest ambition and the
stakes are a marriage he’s already planning for, Rex is willing to go all in.
There’s just one problem-he’s competing against the only woman he’s ever loved
and he’s sure she’ll ruin all his plans.
Only love can take it all
Miss May Sedgwick could be the belle
of the season…if she cared. May is more interested in the art studio than the
marriage market and her craving to pursue her passion far outweighs her desire
for a titled English husband. Winning this bet will finally allow her to pursue
her true artistic desires. Rex Leighton losing is just a side benefit, as are
his breathtaking kisses that she just can’t seem to resist.


He blinked, a quick fan of sable lashes, and then those unique eyes of his saw her. Not as a stranger to whom he was being introduced, but as the woman he’d held and kissed. The woman to whom he’d broken every promise he’d ever made.




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Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of
every British costume drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes
sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who
struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former
teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being
able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.



Posted by on April 27, 2016 in What to Read Wednesday


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